


The White Wolf

by pennyslug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Post-Season/Series 01, Smut, Temporary Character Death, Wake-Up Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyslug/pseuds/pennyslug
Summary: Now that destiny has brought Geralt and Ciri together, they set off on their journey to Kaer Morhen. Their plans are interrupted when they discover Yennefer is in trouble.This work is mostly canon-compliant, based primarily on The Witcher Netflix series Season 1. Some minor elements from the Witcher 3 video game are incorporated. Not specifically true to canon in terms of the book series, as I have never read them, but I have tried to keep the general story true to what I know of some later events in the series.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 19
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who has only seen the show, there are a few minor game/book references:
> 
> Aard = one of Geralt's witcher "spells" (which are really called "signs"). It is the one he is seen performing several times in the TV series when he releases a blast that throws enemies backwards. None of the other signs are referenced in this work, but if you're curious they are Axii, Quen, Igni, and Yrden. 
> 
> Blade oils = in the Witcher 3 video game, Geralt brews oils that are applied to his blade to deal extra damage to certain types of monsters. Different monster types require different oils, which have to be brewed from various alchemical ingredients.
> 
> Kaer Morhen = the witcher school where Geralt was trained and turned into a witcher. It is specifically the home of the School of the Wolf, which is the school Geralt belongs to. His wolf medallion is the symbol representing 1) that he is a witcher and 2) which witcher school he belongs to.

“Watch your exposed side when you parry. The return has to be fast, or else your enemy will make a quick attack to your gut while your sword is extended,” Geralt said as he demonstrated one such attack by jabbing Ciri lightly in the stomach with his stick.

Ciri responded by repeating the parrying motion Geralt had spent the morning teaching her with her own stick and quickly bringing it back to center.

“Better,” Geralt responded. “Now do it while I attack.”

They repeated the sparring exercise once again, this time with Ciri successfully parrying both his first attack and the quick second attack that came after.

“Good. Time to pack up and keep moving.”

Ciri smiled smugly. She knew that Geralt not making her repeat the exercise twenty more times meant that she was improving. He was a demanding teacher, but Ciri found herself feeling less and less afraid every day, ever since she and Geralt had that first fateful meeting in the woods outside Sodden several weeks prior. She was so tired of being afraid—so tired of feeling helpless, lost, and alone. Geralt was changing all of that. He made her feel safe. And not just by his own presence—he was teaching her how to sword fight, how to collect herbs and make potions, and how to recognize various kinds of monsters. How to defend _herself_. Ciri ardently absorbed all of it. And now Geralt was taking her to Kaer Morhen—the witcher school where he himself had been trained and turned into a witcher so many years ago. She would not be made into a witcher, Geralt had assured her—not only were there no female witchers, but it was impossible to make new witchers anymore anyway—but she would be trained as one. And protected from Nilfgaard by the other witchers there in the process.

“Can we collect some more potion ingredients while we ride today?” Ciri asked hopefully, as she gathered her things. “You promised to teach me how to make cursed oil, remember?”

“Planning on running into werewolves sometime soon?” Geralt teased her.

“A witcher must always be prepared for any kind of fight,” Ciri responded matter-of-factly.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said, smirking at her reply. “Fine. Do you remember the herbal ingredients?”

“Wolfsbane and….fool’s parsley.”

After packing up their humble campsite, Ciri took her place on Roach’s back, tucked in the saddle behind Geralt. She wrapped her arms around his waist as they set off. The first time she’d done it, Geralt had given a subtle surprised glance back at her, but decided not to say anything. He certainly wasn’t used to riding Roach with anyone, or to such frequent human contact (and certainly not from a child). He was still trying to get used to the newfound paranoia that at any moment something bad might happen to her. Plenty of bad things had _already_ happened to her. So he let her cling to his waist. If it brought her some kind of small comfort, he could not bring himself to take it away from her. 

* * *

Yennefer lay motionless on the hard ground. She was slowly becoming aware that there _was_ ground, and that she had a body to lie on it with. The last thing she could remember was heat and flame—fire all around her, coursing through her, borne of her own burning anger deep within. Then she felt everything disappear. There was nothing but Chaos. She lost all sense of the physical, and of herself. Her consciousness slowly awoke within her mind. _Fire…fire burning everywhere_ …where had it come from? _The forest was on fire_ , she thought. _No—it came from me. From my own hands. But how?_ The memory of Sodden slowly formed in her mind’s eye. The keep, Tissaia— _Tissaia!_ Her words rang through her mind— _everything you have ever felt…forget the bottle_ ….and then it came out of her like dragon breath. What had happened with the battle? Had they won? Why couldn’t she remember anything after that? Somehow she felt that time had passed since that moment, but she had no concept of how much.

_Yennefer!....Yennefer!_...

She remembered a voice—a voice she had heard somewhere inside all that Chaos, calling out her name. A deep voice, gravelly and masculine. She let out a sigh. She could recognize that voice anywhere. She tried to ignore the fact that she could hear longing in it. _Of_ course _it was him_ , she thought bitterly. _I can’t get away from him even in pure Chaos._ _Probably the djinn’s magic from that damn wish_. Though the thought came to her immediately after that perhaps that wish had just saved her from…wherever she was. For it was that voice—his voice—calling out to her that had helped her find her way back. That had kept her from completely dissolving into the overwhelming Chaos and forgetting everything about who she was. She also decided at that moment that she would never, even on pain of death, admit this to him.

The realization suddenly struck her that she was lying on the ground somewhere. With a jolt, she opened her eyes. She was lying underneath a canopy of trees, their branches completely burnt bare, and it was dark. In looking around she saw that she was alone in the scorched remnants of a forest. She slowly began to move her fingers and toes, and in trying to sit up realized that her entire body was in pain. She felt as though she’d been trampled by a horse. A whole herd of horses, for that matter. Wincing and groaning, she pulled herself up.

Behind her she could see remnants of the Sodden keep in the distance, through the bare trees. Small patches of firelight lit the outside walls. So someone was still there. Where was Tissaia? And Triss? Sabrina? She closed her eyes and tried to reach them with her mind, but the magic wasn’t coming easy to her. What was wrong? She took a few deep breaths and focused her thoughts. She managed to push some of her mental energy outward, but the effort quickly exhausted her. She couldn’t feel anyone’s presence.

Panting and stumbling, she made her way through the trees towards the keep. She stayed hidden in the woods as best she could—she knew she could not reveal herself until she knew exactly who it was occupying the area. Coming up over the ridge and peering into the grounds, she realized with a sinking in her gut that the soldiers making camp around the keep were unmistakably Nilfgaardian. So had Nilfgaard won the battle? Where were the others?

She moved quickly behind the tree line, trying to scout the camp for some evidence of her fellow mages—perhaps being held hostage somewhere. She couldn’t bring herself to think of the alternative. So many had already died during the battle—she couldn’t think of losing Triss and Tissaia too. She tried to shove off the nagging reminder that she hadn’t been able to feel their minds...

Her worry was cut short, however, when she heard movement in the trees behind her. She turned quickly and with a gasp realized she was surrounded by Nilfgaardian soldiers.

“Lord Cahir and Lady Fringilla have been looking for you, Yennefer of Vengerberg,” one of the soldiers said in a threatening sneer.

She thrust her hands forward and tried to throw them backwards with a magical blast, but only a faint shockwave emitted from her efforts. A few of the soldiers stumbled backwards a little, but broke out into laughter when they realized that was all she could do.

“We might not even need these,” one of them joked loudly to the others, as he pulled out a pair of dimeritium shackles. Yennefer’s stomach sank as she realized she was cornered. She let out a growl of protest as the solders grabbed her and bound her in the shackles. Immediately she could feel what little magical strength she had left being sapped by the dimeritium.

_Focus_ , she told herself as the solders led her into the camp. _You can find your way out of this. When you get to Fringilla, play it smooth. Act like you want to join sides. You were only doing it for Tissaia, not because you had anything against Nilfgaard. She knows you hate Aretuza and the Brotherhood. You can work with that_.

She straightened her back and held her head up high as the soldiers led her through the camp. She would not, under any circumstances, allow herself to look like a cornered rat. She had to look like this was all part of her plan. As they passed the various campfires, she noticed many of the soldiers looking at her with a mixture of anger and fear. They passed a group of wounded soldiers lying on bedrolls with burns covering much of their bodies. She smiled to herself. _Good_ , she thought. _They know it was me that scorched them to pieces. They know what I’m capable of_.

Her smile faded, however, when they arrived at her temporary destination. A jail carriage, complete with barred windows, sat before her. No doubt lined with dimeritium, made especially for capturing mages.

“Your carriage, my _lady_ ,” jeered one of the soldiers with a laugh as he shoved her inside, rather unceremoniously. The door slammed behind her and the soldiers sauntered off, quite pleased with themselves for capturing _the_ Yennefer of Vengerberg. Once they had left, Yennefer sank to the floor of her dark cell, weakened from the dimeritium all around her and utterly exhausted to her core. Hopelessness threatened to overcome her as she closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep before she could stop herself.

* * *

Geralt and Ciri sat beside their small campfire after a long day of riding towards Kaer Morhen. To Ciri’s delight, they had managed to find both wolfsbane and fool’s parsley, and Geralt already had the dog tallow necessary to brew the cursed oil in a small cast iron pot over the fire. Ciri was spreading the oil over Geralt’s silver sword with a cloth as he’d showed her, holding it gingerly in her lap. The oil was applied directly to the blade so that it could infest the monster with every cut.

“Ciri…” Geralt muttered reluctantly.

She stopped and looked up at him, concerned by the frown she saw on his face. Was she doing it wrong?

“About Yennefer…” he began slowly. “Have you…felt…anything else from her since the day we met?”

Ciri gave him a sympathetic frown. Geralt had reluctantly answered some of her questions about the elusive Yennefer. She hadn’t even heard him say her name since that first day, when her first words ever spoken to him were about the vanished sorceress. She didn’t know how, but that dream she’d had the night before they met in the woods—she could feel that he was searching for her. She remembered his voice, calling out for this Yennefer. And that she was _lost_ , somewhere. He’d given her a few details, such as the fact that she was a sorceress he knew, and something had happened to her, and that he recently (reluctantly) became convinced that they were connected by destiny somehow, the same as he and Ciri were. But Ciri could also tell that he wasn’t telling her everything. There was a whole saga of a story there.

“No. Do you really think I have the ability to find her?”

“If you have power anything like your mother’s, then it might be possible.”

Ciri looked at him in shock.

“You knew my mother? What kind of _power_?!”

Geralt looked taken aback. “No one ever told you? Not even Mousesack?”

Ciri stared at him in silence. Geralt could tell by her expression that her shock was slowly turning to hurt. Not from him, but from the things she apparently was never told by the people she’d trusted most. _Fuck_ , he thought. _Now I’m the one that has to have this conversation with her_.

“I was there, the night your mother and father wed. Your grandmother, Queen Calanthe, opposed the marriage because your father was a cursed knight, and he claimed the Law of Surprise to win your mother’s hand. She tried to kill him. To save his life, your mother released some kind of…power. A very strong power. Blasted everyone there on their asses, including me. I don’t know what it was. But it was something primal. I’m willing to bet you have that same power.”

Ciri’s eyes were fixed on the fire. Her jaw set in a mixture of anger and worry. So this is why her screams had done those strange things. All those unexplained moments after she’d fled Cintra were starting to make sense. With a sickening feeling she realized that a fear she’d been harboring deep inside was probably true—that she’d somehow killed Anton and those other men that came after her in the fields that night. They were impaled on trees! Blood was everywhere! Had she really done that? If she had some kind of uncontrollable primal power like her mother…why had her grandmother never told her?

After several long moments of silence, she spoke quietly.

“Is this why Nilfgaard is after me?”

Geralt clenched his jaw, but didn’t answer. Ciri knew the answer by his silence nonetheless.

“What does this mean? Why do I have these…abilities?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. But we can figure it out once we get to Kaer Morhen. There is an extensive library there. And Vesimir has knowledge about a great many things,” he answered, referencing his former teacher and head of the School of the Wolf.

“I’m feeling tired,” she said with a depressed look, as she laid the sword and cloth down and got up from the fire. Geralt said nothing in response, simply staring into the faintly glowing flames as she tucked herself into her bedroll under the makeshift lean-to of sticks he’d taught her to build, her back turned towards him.

That night, Geralt slept restlessly. For the first time in weeks, he dreamed that he was in that foggy, rocky place again, calling out Yennefer’s name desperately. Suddenly the air around him was engulfed in flames, burning white-hot, and he heard Yennefer’s screams echoing around him. He fell to his knees, one arm covering his face as the flames licked at his skin. In a wave of smoke the flames disappeared, and he blinked against the ashy fog left in its wake. He saw a figure on the ground before him. The figure looked like a woman, with raven black hair…he thought he could smell the scent of lilac and gooseberries when the smoke lifted for a moment. He rushed over to her and his heart pounded as Yennefer’s face emerged from the haze. She was silent and still, with her eyes closed.

“Yen! _Yennefer!_ ” he called out to her desperately, shaking her still form. Suddenly, her eyes opened, and his breath caught in his throat as he looked into those deep violet irises.

Geralt awoke with a start, realizing quickly that someone was shaking him. He jerked upwards, reaching for his blade instinctively. Ciri sat next to him, her eyes wide.

“Geralt! I saw her. I saw Yennefer! She’s…back. I felt her mind!”

Geralt stared at Ciri with an intense expression, and she continued.

“I think I know where she is.”


	2. Chapter Two

Yennefer stared forlornly out of the barred window of her dimeritium prison carriage. The temperature had turned cold and there was a definite bite in the air. Soon it would be winter, and snow would blanket the landscape. For now the last bits of greenery still clung to the branches—pointless, given their soon-to-be inevitable demise to the frost. Yennefer felt that the Northern kingdoms were very much the same at the moment, trying to cling to some semblance of hope in the face of the oncoming Black Sun of Nilfgaard.

The carriage was being pulled along in a caravan of soldiers—with guards surrounding on every side—to some new destination that Yennefer couldn’t divine. She knew she was being taken to Fringilla, or to this Lord Cahir person. But the soldiers merely scoffed and laughed when she attempted to get them to tell her exactly where that was. She could tell that she was being taken north, which was not a good sign. Was Nilfgaard already pressing into the northern half of Sodden and Brugge? _I guess Fringilla’s assertion that their quarrel was with Cintra and Cintra alone proved to be false after all_ , Yennefer thought bitterly. _Not that anyone really believed that_. Her thoughts strayed to Triss, whose kingdom Temeria would surely be next in Nilfgaard’s sights. _I hope you’re still alive somewhere, Triss…_

Movement in the woods outside her barred window interrupted Yennefer’s thoughts. She saw a flash of white, which from the corner of her eye she mistook for some patch of snow. It was still far too early in the season for snow, however, so she focused her gaze into the trees. Standing upon a small outcrop on the hill, silent and stoic, stood a white wolf. It stared directly back at her, seemingly unperturbed by the loud clanking of the soldiers trudging along around her, as if she was the only other living thing for miles. It was beautiful. Pure white fur that stood out in sharp contrast to the dark greens and browns of the woods, smoldering amber eyes, with a large and powerful body. Its gaze stayed locked in hers as her carriage rode slowly past. Yennefer couldn’t remember ever having seen a live wolf, let alone a white one, so close before. But then a strange feeling, almost a tingling sensation, went rippling through her body. _Geralt_. The White Wolf, they called him. And for the first time, Yennefer could truly appreciate why. The wolf in the woods resembled him so much in presence that she almost felt as if Geralt were out there in those woods, right now, watching her from just beyond the trees.

Before she could stop herself, a small flutter of hope arose in her stomach and caught her breath in her throat. What if he was nearby? What would he do if he saw her current situation? And why did she always have to have so many damn _feelings_ every time he came popping back up in her life?

The wolf finally faded from sight, blocked by the passing trees as her carriage prison rolled onwards, and the moment was over as quickly as it had begun. Yennefer sighed and leaned back on her bench, away from the window. _Like a silly schoolgirl all over again_ , she thought angrily. _Just stop it. It’s over. It was all fake anyway, manufactured from that damned wish. If you’re lucky you’ll escape the djinn’s magic and never see him again_. She chose to ignore the fact that she still could not convince herself to believe it.

* * *

Geralt and Ciri rode with a hurried pace through the wood. An air of urgency gripped them both, but particularly Geralt, who’d been sporting a permanent frown since Ciri had awoken him with her news of Yennefer. Ciri had told him as much detail as she could about her own dream that night—that she saw Yennefer at Sodden Hill, weakened and exhausted, and she’d felt a desperate plea from her mind. Geralt had discovered the rest of the situation from unsuspecting locals and eavesdropping on the occasional group of drunk Nilfgaardian soldiers, who were boasting a little too loudly about how the last of the “damn witches” from the battle at Sodden Hill had finally been rounded up, and was being taken north in a convoy from the keep.

It took Geralt only a day to track down which road the convoy was taking. He and Ciri rode hidden in the wood a half a day’s ride ahead of them, scouting for the opportune location to launch an attack to free Yennefer. He’d caught sight of the group not long before, including the dimeritium-lined cage they were keeping her in, and was growing worried about how he was going to pull this off. A witcher he may be, but he was still only one man in the face of an entire group of trained soldiers. Yennefer would not be able to assist him while she was trapped in the dimeritium.

 _Speaking of Yennefer_ …he scowled to himself as he knew that she would certainly not be pleased with him for showing up out of the blue and getting involved in her affairs again. Not after the way they had last parted at the dragon’s den. He suffered no naive delusions that all would suddenly be forgiven and she would swoon over him as her heroic rescuer. _Instead she’ll give me some fucking lecture about not needing anyone’s help_ , he thought (and he even smiled slightly as he pictured it, despite himself). But he would be damned if he allowed her to get herself killed. Enduring her wrath for a short time was a small price to pay for knowing that she was safe, and alive. He would not be able to sleep again until he saw her, of this he was sure. He probably wouldn’t be able to sleep again after he saw her either, unless she was lying naked next to him with that fragrance of lilac and gooseberries that somehow always seemed to calm him. And rescuing her from the middle of the Nilfgaardian capitol itself was probably more likely to happen than _that_.

Geralt was stirred from his memories of Yennefer naked beside him as the solution to saving her suddenly presented itself in perhaps the most unexpected way imaginable.

“Ugh, the smell is horrible!” Ciri said, covering her face with her sleeve. A half-eaten, dismembered, rotting horse carcass lay strewn on the ground in front of them. Roach whinnied nervously and began backing away from the scene.

“Calm down, Roach,” Geralt said as he patted the mare on the side of her neck. He hopped down from the saddle.

“Time for your first monster hunting lesson,” he said to Ciri in his usual dry sarcasm.

He approached the carcass and began to inspect it carefully. He took note of which organs were missing, and which had been left behind. Certain monsters were picky about what they ate. He noted the size and pattern of the claw marks that had ripped the horse’s flesh apart.

“Griffin did this,” he said gruffly. “Could be a female. That means there’s likely a nest somewhere nearby.”

Ciri glanced around the trees nervously.

“Will it come back for the rest?”

"Possibly. Best for us not to be here if it does. A female protecting a nest would attack with very little provocation.”

Then the idea came to him. It was a crazy idea.

“Hmm.”

"What? What ‘ _hmm_ ’? Geralt?”

He didn’t answer Ciri’s nervous questions right away. It was a slim chance that he could take down a Nilfgaardian convoy on his own. But if he lured the griffin to the road…it would give him the element of surprise he needed. Not to mention the griffin would more than likely take care of a few soldiers for him. Few humans knew how to properly fight a griffin, even those trained with a sword.

“We need to find buckthorn. Quickly.”

Geralt filled an incredulous Ciri in on his plan as they made their preparations. Buckthorn, once removed from its watery growing place, let off a powerful stench akin to a rotting corpse. The smell could be used to attract hungry griffins—among other things—looking for an easy meal. Geralt kept it carefully wrapped in a leather skin soaked in oil to keep the stench masked until they were ready. He picked out a spot along the road to attempt his insane plan. The convoy was a few hours away. Now he had to find a safe spot for Ciri to wait until it was all over. He couldn’t allow her to get too close to the convoy, lest she be taken by the Nilfgaardians as well. Not to mention he didn’t want her anywhere near a griffin.

They rode about half an hour further into the woods away from the road, until Geralt found a satisfactory spot. They worked in silence as they set up a small camp. Geralt knew Ciri was worried, but he refused to lie to her with meaningless promises that everything was going to work out as they hoped. Ciri had a million questions and complaints swirling in her head, but she didn’t want to distract Geralt from his concentration on the plan.

After finishing up the camp and securing Roach, Geralt handed Ciri one of his daggers. She nodded at him wordlessly as she took it.

“Stay here. I will be back in a few hours. If I don’t return as expected, do not come looking for me. I will find you,” he commanded, locking eyes with her in an intense gaze.

“I know.”

She said it so simply, so straightforward that Geralt was almost taken aback for a moment. She had put her faith in him completely. Geralt now had to put his faith in their shared destiny, and trust that they would not be separated. Before Geralt could turn to leave, Ciri hugged him. He allowed the permanent frown to ease from his brow for a moment as he gently placed his arms around her in return. The moment could not last for long, however, as Geralt softly pulled away and disappeared into the trees, his twin swords upon his back.

* * *

Yennefer scowled and covered her nose as they came upon an awful smell.

“Must be some fucking animal wot died ahead on the road,” she heard one of the soldiers outside her prison complain loudly.

“More like an entire bleeding herd of animals,” griped another.

“Gods this place belongs to the dogs.”

Yennefer peered out of her barred window in an attempt to see the source of the offensive stench, but could see no animal carcass or even carrions swirling around to indicate a source.

“Oi! What was that?!” exclaimed one of the soldiers suddenly. “Right there over the treetop! I swear I saw a gigantic wing!”

“Come off it,” said his companion nearby.

But his cry had made many of the soldiers nervous, and they gripped their weapons as they started to look nervously around overhead. Yennefer’s own eyes began to search the sky, but the screaming started before she actually saw it.

A gigantic beast swooped down onto the road and pierced one of the soldiers clean through his armor with its massive talons. Or were they claws? The creature had the head of a gigantic eagle, with a razor sharp beak and wings wider than a castle moat. But it had a huge mane of pitch-black feathers that flared wildly around its face, and the lower body of some kind of mammal. A long tail, ending in the same black feathers, whipped around as it flung the unfortunate soldier high into the air.

Chaos erupted. The soldiers began yelling and frantically drawing their weapons. A few of the more seasoned ones tried to organize the group into some sort of formation, but their shouts were drowned out by the piercing screeches of the beast and the agonized cries of the men it was quickly slaughtering.

In the midst of the confusion, Yennefer heard a sudden battle cry from a voice that was all too familiar. He came charging from the trees, closing the distance to the nearest soldier in a powerful leap. His eyes were completely black, and dark spidery veins extended from them into his face. His sword glinting in the sun, his white hair flying as he slashed down the soldiers before him, came Geralt of Rivia.

The panic caused by the griffin had worked. The soldiers were completely blindsided by the sudden white-haired madman that burst out of the woods. The few seconds of hesitation they took in trying to determine if he was enemy or friend cost them their lives. A few of them regained their wits more quickly and raised their swords against him, but were quickly cut down by either his blade or the griffin’s claws.

Ciri watched the bloodbath unfold from the edge of the wood, where she hesitated in fear. She had not followed Geralt’s command. She simply could not bear waiting alone, helpless in the woods, as she had done for weeks after her escape from Cintra. The horrible memories of that experience threatened to overwhelm her. And she could not simply stand by not knowing whether Geralt was alive or not. So she’d retraced their path through the woods, back to the road, taking care not to attract Geralt’s attention.

The griffin was unlike anything she’d ever seen. And so was Geralt. Blood soaked his clothes and splattered his face and hair as he cut the Nilfgaardians down. His black eyes were even more unhuman than his regular golden ones. He wielded his blade with such power, such grace, that she realized how stupid her feeble attempts at swordfighting with a stick must have looked to him. But she was not afraid of him. This was her protector in his full glory. This was the man whom she could trust with her life. The White Wolf, the mutant, the one with abilities everyone both hated and feared. Not so different from herself, if she was being honest. And she did not mourn the Nilfgaardians as he slaughtered them.

Tearing her eyes away from the awesome sight, she saw the dimeritium jail carriage. A woman’s face watched intensely from the barred window. She recognized Yennefer immediately from her dream. Ciri also quickly realized that the soldiers’ numbers were dwindling, and guarding Yennefer’s prison was the least of their concerns at the moment. So Ciri made a decision. One she was sure she would get an earful from Geralt for. But also one that could ensure their plan was a success.

She drew the knife Geralt had given her and dashed for the jail carriage. As she suspected, a random young girl with a knife running amongst the slaughter was not deemed the highest threat by the soldiers, if they even saw her to begin with. She made it to the carriage and quickly stepped up on the side. The sorceress Yennefer looked at her in shock through the window.

“Who are you?”

“I’m with Geralt. I’m here to get you out,” she said breathlessly as she began tugging on the bars and locks.

_With_ Geralt? Yennefer felt as if she had completely lost all understanding of what was happening. What was Geralt doing with a young girl following him around into battle? Surely this couldn’t be the “child surprise” he had told her about. Yet somehow this girl did not seem like some random vagabond foundling he’d picked up off the street—not that Geralt would ever be so inclined to do such a thing anyway. Had he taken Yennefer’s words to heart, and recovered the child he had abandoned before? And now this after he’d lectured her about it being no life for a child!

Yennefer’s confusion was interrupted by a large axe piercing into the side of the carriage. A soldier had thrown it, attempting to strike the griffin, and it had narrowly missed Ciri’s head as it implanted in the dimeritium.

“Perfect,” Ciri said, not missing a beat. She grabbed the axe, pulled it with a big heave out of the side of the carriage, and began hacking at the hole it had made, widening it further.

“The lock! Strike the lock,” Yennefer instructed.

Ciri turned her attention to hacking at the large metal lock holding the rear door of the cell shut. She missed several times, but managed to make a large dent in it before being grabbed from behind by a very angry Geralt.

“ _Cirilla_ ,” he growled through gritted teeth. 

Ciri looked up at him, speechless, axe still in hand.

“What are you doing here?! I told you to stay at the camp!” he yelled, while simultaneously blasting a quick aard at a soldier that had taken the opportunity to charge at him while he was distracted. His eyes never left Ciri’s face.

“Geralt!” Yennefer called out, pointing at a group of soldiers charging towards them from behind his back.

“Fuck. Ciri, _stay next to this cart_. Do you understand me?!” 

Ciri nodded as Geralt turned and ran off to divert the soldiers. She continued her work on breaking the lock, damaging it to the point that it was almost completely off. Before she could strike the final blow, however, one of the last few remaining soldiers came running towards her. She tried to fling the axe at him, but missed. Geralt was still fending off the other soldiers some distance away.

“Run! _Run!_ ” Yennefer told her.

Ciri took off running from the carriage into the middle of the road, but she was not fast enough to outrun the soldier. He tackled her to the ground as she flailed to fight him off. She attempted to stab him with the knife but he caught her hand. Suddenly a loud griffin screech erupted overhead, and the man was ripped off of her and up into the air by the maddened beast.

Geralt struck the killing blow on the last of the Nilfgaardian soldiers just in time to turn and see Ciri lying on the ground, in the middle of the road, with the griffin swooping in a wide arc over her head. Time seemed to freeze around him as he realized what was about to happen. He ran to her as fast as he possibly could. Faster than he had ever run in his entire life. He slid in front of her, shielding her from the griffin’s outstretched talons, a split second before they could reach their mark. His blade pierced the monster directly through its throat. The weight and forward momentum of its own massive body impaled the beast deeply upon his sword, cutting short its final cry in a bloody gurgle.

Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer—the only three living souls left standing amidst the carnage—all held their breath for a few long seconds in the sudden silence. Then, Geralt sputtered a bloody cough as he dropped his sword and the beast’s body fell to the ground. Its talons, meant for Ciri, had pierced him in the chest. He fell to his knees with a heavy thud.

“Geralt! No!” cried Ciri as she realized what had happened. She hastily leaned him back against the monster’s dead carcass and tried to quell the gushing blood with her hands.

Yennefer watched mortified from her prison. She was frozen in shock. The horrific sight of the griffin’s claws piercing directly into his chest felt as if it had just been burned into her mind’s eye. Realizing he was quickly bleeding out on the road, she threw herself against the door of her prison with all the strength she could muster. The weakened lock gave way and she tumbled onto the ground. As soon as she was free of the dimeritium she could feel her energy starting to return, but not quickly enough. She stumbled over to Geralt’s side, and her eyes widened in horror at the bloody mass that used to be his chest. This could not be happening. What about that fucking wish? Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of magical destiny? She wasn’t supposed to be able to lose him. Not _really_ lose him. They were supposed to be bound together. _Good-for-nothing fucking djinn_ , she thought, hot tears of anger and desperation welling up in her eyes. _Where is its magic now?_

“Yen—“ Geralt coughed through the blood. “Please…”

“Geralt—“

“Yen promise me…You must get Ciri… to Kaer Morhen. She needs you.”

Yennefer was speechless as she watched the life beginning to drain from his face. She felt powerless. She had no magical strength to attempt to save him, her frantic attempts at stopping the bleeding were fruitless, and he was fading too fast. She had so much that she needed to say! So much had gone unspoken between them, and now she was watching him slip through her fingers like grains of sand.

He was the only person who had ever told her she was important to him.

And not because of her power, not because of her influence at some court, not because of what she could do for him—Geralt had no use for any of those things. He truly, simply, genuinely wanted her for her.

And suddenly now, at the final moment, she understood why he’d made that wish that she had so resented him for. He’d had a powerful djinn at his command, and he’d spent his final wish on her—on her!—over fame, money, power, revenge, or even the opportunity to not be a witcher anymore. And _even then_ he hadn’t wished for her to be forced to fall in love with him—only that their fates would be intertwined, so that they would always be able to find each other no matter what might happen. Yennefer admitted with a twinge of shame that she would not have done the same if she had been the one with the wishes. She had been thinking only of herself during that whole ordeal, as she had learned to do to so long ago as a way to cope with the horrible abuses she had endured in her life. But Geralt had suffered in his life too. And despite all of that, the _only thing_ he truly wanted was to not lose her.

 _Gods damn it!_ She thought to herself bitterly. Why was she only understanding this now? She had wasted so much time, time that she could have had with him. Why had it taken watching him get impaled—again a selfless act to protect another!—for her to see it? She’d taken for granted that he would always be there, convinced herself that he was invincible. She understood in that moment with a heavy feeling that she would never, no matter how many years she lived, find another person who loved her like Geralt did.

And it hit her like a brick to the face how desperately she loved him too. His selflessness, his morality, his courage, his conviction to protect others even as they spat in his face and shunned him as a freak—things she realized she had always failed at, was always lacking, no matter how powerful she became. He was perhaps the only genuinely good person she had ever known. And he cared. He actually _gave a fuck_ about something in this world, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise. For a wild moment Yennefer thought of Jaskier—she would have to make amends with him. She understood now why the bard had chosen Geralt of Rivia as his muse and spent so much of his life following him around. Jaskier saw the gold inside of Geralt too.

“I promise. I will protect her,” Yennefer said as she placed her bloodstained hand gently on the side of his face. It was the only thing she could give him.

Geralt lifted his hand to his medallion. With a grunt of pain he yanked it off of his neck, and placed it in Ciri’s hand. His eyes turned to the girl, their hands held together with the medallion between them.

“Ciri…”

She began shaking her head desperately. She had already watched her grandmother die this way. She couldn’t bear to go through it again.

“I’m…sorry…”

Geralt’s voice was little more than a low growl now.

“I would have…given you…my whole life…”

And with those heavy words, Geralt’s abnormally slow heartbeat came to a final stop.

As his hand fell from Ciri’s, she blinked down in disbelief at the medallion of the White Wolf resting in her palm.


	3. Chapter Three

Ciri could feel the scream building up inside of her. Finally, she had felt safe. Finally, she had found someone who would protect her at all costs. Someone she could trust completely. Finally she had started to feel like an actual living person again since the day her grandmother died and her life was shattered into pieces. And now he was gone. Her last hope. And it was her fault.

Why hadn’t she listened to him and stayed put in the camp? Why did she have to run out into that bloodbath? Why couldn’t she do anything right, and why did she have to have this cursed power, and why did Geralt have to _die_? None of this was supposed to happen. She wasn’t ready. She just wanted to be a child again. The scream was building up from her stomach like panic.

Next to her, Yennefer could not breathe. Trying to get the air to come into her lungs was like trying to drink syrup from a straw. She was vaguely aware that her body was shaking, but she could not pull her eyes off of Geralt’s lifeless face. She wanted to be swallowed by Chaos again. She wanted to be engulfed in that infernal fire and disappear forever. She did not want to be here, in this world, where Geralt did not exist.

And in a matter of seconds, Ciri could not contain it anymore. The scream burst out of her like a feral animal escaping its cage. Neither Yennefer nor Geralt’s lifeless body were flung away from her, however. Instead, a sudden swirling wind engulfed them in a ten-foot radius, like a catastrophic tornado with them at its center. The trees, bodies, and broken pieces of wood and metal around them were flung into the storm, and the sound of her scream was drowned out in the howling of the wind.

Yennefer thought for a brief moment that some greater force had come to grant her wish, and allow her to die in merciful evanescence. But she quickly realized that she was not in fact dissolving into Chaos, and that the immense burst of power was coming from Ciri. Through her own body she could feel the Chaos surging and swirling in an uproar, completely uncontrolled and unfocused.

Her eyes turned back to Geralt, and suddenly there was a wild burst of hope in her chest. _She_ did not have the power at the moment to do anything to save Geralt, but obviously Ciri did. But the girl had no idea how to harness it.

She thrust out her hand amidst the swirling wind and grabbed Ciri’s. The action startled Ciri enough to draw her attention and caused the scream to die in her throat. Unlike before, the termination of the scream did not quell the raging outburst of power around her. The tornado continued to rage. Yennefer pulled Ciri’s hand to Geralt’s chest against the wind.

“CONCENTRATE YOUR POWER,” she howled over the noise. “FOCUS YOUR MIND ON GERALT!”

Ciri’s eyes widened as she realized what Yennefer was trying to help her do. She shut her eyes tight and tried to regain her grasp on the energy spewing wildly out from her. _Heal Geralt…close his wounds…bring him back to life_ …she repeated to herself desperately, trying to visualize it working in her mind’s eye. She tried to remember the feel of his slow heartbeat, the sound of his breath, as she tried to undo everything that she had caused.

Suddenly she could feel the energy chaotically swirling out of her start to change direction and form into organized channels, as if it were being sucked back into her. And she could feel that the force pulling them in was not coming from her alone. Yennefer’s presence suddenly felt very heavy beside her, as if it carried some massive gravity that could suck the power back in. She opened her eyes briefly to see a strangely serene expression on Yennefer’s face—her eyes closed, her jaw set, her breathing deep. It stood out sharply against her hair whipping wildly around her face. Yennefer was using her own experienced balance and control to direct Ciri’s Chaos.

So Ciri closed her eyes once again and focused on the flow Yennefer had started. She could feel the energy not only flowing back into her, but back out of her again through her hand on Geralt’s chest. And it was flowing into him! She allowed her mind to empty, and in doing so became keenly aware of every living thing around her caught in the storm. The trees, the leaves, the animals, even the tiniest of insects suddenly became bright sources of light. They had life. Life she could take, and transform, and put into Geralt.

 _Sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is die_ , came Yennefer’s voice in her mind.

And with that, Ciri took it all.

Geralt’s wounds began to stitch themselves closed. The life energy coursed through his body, multiplying his cells and replenishing his blood. And with a final exhausted push, with the last bit of energy Ciri and Yennefer had combined, came a _tha-thump_ of his heart.

The swirling storm vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Their ears rang in the sudden silence, and debris came crashing down around them. But they could not allow themselves to breathe just yet. After a painfully long silence—about four times as long as it would have been for any regular human—came the second thump of his heartbeat.

Geralt gasped and sat up suddenly, lifting his sword and looking around wildly as if he had just been woken up by a sudden noise while sleeping.

Both Yennefer and Ciri let out the breath they were holding, and Yennefer’s came with a small incredulous laugh.

Geralt tried to take in the scene around him. The battlefield looked like it had been turned upside down and shaken vigorously. Trees had been torn from their roots and branches were strewn about as if he had just missed a massive storm. The woman and the girl in front of him were looking at him with expressions he could not define—no one had ever looked at him that way in his entire life.

“What the f—“ he started to say, but was cut off by Ciri flinging herself into his arms. She started to sob, and Geralt decided questions could wait. He simply wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. A small smile escaped his lips.

As Yennefer watched them, she could feel her heart actively melting. This was Geralt’s destiny-bound child, no doubt. And seeing that rare smile of his could kill her. He was so gorgeous when he smiled. Even if she could find a way to get her womb back, she realized she would never be able to accept any other man as the father of her child besides Geralt. No other man in the entire world could possibly be good enough. But then, the feeling slowly came over her that there was _already_ a child who needed them both. Looking at Ciri she saw a future. Geralt could protect her and teach her how to wield a sword, but he couldn’t teach her how to wield her immense natural power, whatever it was. He was right—Ciri _did_ need her. Fate had taken away her ability to be a mother, but perhaps it was being returned to her now in an unexpected way. She knew from that moment on she would not be able to turn her back on either of them ever again. The djinn’s magic, Geralt’s wish, had worked. And she couldn’t be more filled with happiness.

* * *

“Geralt, you’re making the poor girl _sleep_ in these conditions?” Yennefer asked as she looked around their pitiful camp in the woods. Not even a tent in sight—only shabby lean-tos made of sticks and dirty bedrolls. _Men_ , she thought, rolling her eyes to herself. They had finally made it back to the camp Geralt and Ciri had set up earlier, all three of them exhausted and covered in grime and blood as the sun started to set.

“You’re right, I should have prioritized luxury sleeping arrangements over rescuing you,” he quipped back.

She raised her eyebrow at him but couldn’t stop the small smile from briefly crossing her lips.

“Lucky for her she no longer has to be subjected to your fondness for roughing it through every backwater ditch in the country.”

She turned her back to him and spread her fingers wide in front of her. The makeshift lean-to shelters began to transform into small tents, somewhat humble in appearance on the outside; but Geralt was willing to bet these tents were not unlike the enchanted one Yennefer had used on their quest for the dragon. Sure enough, when Ciri poked her head inside one of them she let out a delighted gasp at the impossible spaciousness, complete with a bathtub and furnishings, she found inside.

Yennefer had made only two tents.

“Would you like one, Geralt?”

She couldn’t stop herself from teasing him, especially now that her true feelings for him had been realized inside herself. She knew he was probably hoping with all his heart right now that he would be sharing a tent with her, and couldn’t resist the temptation to make him sweat a little.

“I’ll be fine,” he growled, grabbing his bedroll from the ground and moving it next to Roach—obviously bothered and trying not to show it.

She smiled widely this time, her back still turned to him. Success.

“Suit yourself. Ciri, your body needs recovery after expending so much Chaos. Soak in the bath for a while and go right to sleep. I intend to do the same,” she said, placing her hand gently on Ciri’s shoulder.

Ciri did not need to hear it twice. She was all too eager to get out of her ruined clothes, have her first bath in weeks, and sleep on an actual bed. The added privacy of her own tent made it all the better. She gave them both a relieved smile and disappeared into her tent, tying it shut behind her.

Yennefer caught Geralt watching her as she peered at him over her shoulder before disappearing into her own tent. He looked away with that endearing scowl on his face.

She was almost completely naked behind the screen in front of her wooden bathtub when she heard him come in and approach from around the screen. He was shirtless and wearing nothing but those tight black pants (that she so loved to see him in) when she turned to face him, letting the last of her clothes drop.

He wasted not a heartbeat in closing the distance between them and hoisting her up onto his waist, pressing her into the vanity behind them. He looked intensely into her eyes, his passion burning through them.

“Yen—“

She cut him off by pressing her lips hungrily onto his. She wove her fingers into his long white hair and pulled him to her desperately as they kissed. She threw her head back in a satisfied sigh as his lips moved down her neck. He let out a low growl as he bit her gently, and breathed in deeply her irresistible scent of lilac and gooseberries as he caressed his face along her neck. She unfastened his pants and yanked them down, exposing his somewhat oversized cock, eager to be inside of her. She often had wondered if all witchers had larger than average _endowments_ , perhaps as some side effect of their mutations—or if it was just Geralt being irresistibly sexy as usual.

Geralt slid his fingers to her opening, and found it already soaked in her own eagerness. He was accustomed to having to make women orgasm at least once to get them ready before he could penetrate, but Yennefer never seemed to need that step. She was always ready for him, _all_ of him, and he never had to hold anything back.

Their foreheads touched and their eyes locked as the first thrust came.

“I missed you,” he said breathlessly through gritted teeth, not breaking his gaze from her deep violet eyes.

“We are bound together,” she said in return, barely able to restrain her lips from kissing him as his powerful thrusts rocked her up against the vanity. “Do not make me lose you like that ever again.” For once she didn’t even try to mask the emotion from her voice.

“Forgive me.”

With those last words they could speak no more, too consumed with their need for each other to separate their lips again until morning.

Geralt was still unsure what exactly had happened on the road after he lost consciousness. But if it meant Yennefer was back in his arms, he didn’t care. Nothing could be worse than having to watch her leave again. And with the relationship between Yennefer and Ciri now blossoming before him, he didn’t think he’d have to worry about that for quite some time.

The next morning Yennefer woke to Geralt still sleeping beside her. She loved watching him sleep. It seemed like he only ever did when she was around. His usual permanent scowl was gone from his face, his brow and jaw finally relaxed, while he slept. It was really the only time she ever got to see his face looking so serene. It was the face that would have been his in the waking world too had he not been turned into a witcher. She felt like she was peering into some inner part of him that no one ever saw.

Her eyes trailed down his sharp jawline and onto his partially exposed chest. The familiar patchwork of scars all over him intrigued her, as it always had. She wanted to ask about them, but always resisted the urge because he had said that everyone asked about them—and she would be damned if she allowed herself to be like everyone else. Instead she raised her hand and began to lightly trail her finger along the biggest and deepest of them across his chest.

Geralt’s deep breathing suddenly caught in his chest as he awoke with a small start and grabbed Yennefer’s wrist. He lifted one eyelid, and upon seeing it was her, let go of her wrist and relaxed back down into the sheets.

“You startled me,” he said in a deep lazy voice.

“Tickled you, more like.”

“Witchers are _not_ ticklish,” he said sternly, his eyes still closed.

Yennefer smiled mischievously and began running her finger lightly up his chest again. After a moment he grabbed her wrist once again and pulled her up against him, pressing their bodies together and burying his face in her neck. He began to kiss it slowly and moved his hand to cup her breast.

“Hungry again already? Quite the voracious appetite,” she said tauntingly.

“Hmmm,” came his lustful reply from underneath.

“You like it better in the morning,” Geralt said fifteen minutes later, with a slight smugness to his voice, as Yennefer slid back down to the bed from her position on top of him, both panting slightly from the climax still. 

“Apparently I do,” she agreed. She realized she had never had sex in the morning before—as a rule she did not typically spend lazy mornings lying in bed next to any man. The one time she had done it with Geralt, they had no time for making love again as they were in a hurry to find the dragon first.

Reluctantly they got out of bed, and donned their clothing (which Yennefer had magically cleaned of the blood and griffin guts). Outside Ciri was stoking a fire and eating an apple. She tossed a few over to them, not saying a word about the obvious fact that Geralt had not spent the night outside next to Roach.

After eating and packing up all of their things, Geralt helped Ciri up on to Roach’s back. Yennefer raised her eyebrows—she’d never seen him allow anyone to ride his horse. Not even his faithful bard.

“Kaer Morhen is our destination, correct?” she asked.

Geralt nodded at her. It was a long, long journey north to Kaer Morhen. What if Yennefer didn’t want to go with them?

Instead, she stretched out her hands and the leaves from the forest floor swept upwards into a swirling portal in front of them. _Of course_ , Geralt thought. _Sorceress_.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Yennefer said with an expectant look.

Geralt hesitated. He _hated_ using portals. But travelling there the old fashioned way would take weeks, possibly months if they continued getting delayed. Any number of things could befall them on the way. It was simply illogical not to take the safest and most direct path to getting Ciri there as soon as possible. So he sighed and grabbed Roach’s reigns to lead her into the portal. The mare whinnied nervously.

“I know. Come on, Roach,” he said to her quietly as he steered her into it, Ciri still upon her back.

The three of them stepped through together, ready to meet destiny waiting for them on the other side.


End file.
